


Since I Last Saw Your Face

by Syenya



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Other, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syenya/pseuds/Syenya
Summary: He’ll probably be going to parties and sipping $3000 champagne out of $12,000 crystal flutes and there is no future for the two of them.





	

 

 

 

 

Sehun is on the verge of crossing the street when he sees him, a glimpse of up-styled black hair through the gaps between tall red buses and black taxis, just another person in the city like the millions of others. But not. 

He pauses on the curb, one foot in the gutter, and stares. Tao sits in the café obliviously, one knee slung over the other, his foot tapping a subtle beat in the air beside his thigh. His jacket is hung on the back of his chair, his scarf folded neatly on the table at the place of the empty seat across from him. He itches his arm through his navy wool sweater as Sehun watches, scrolling through his phone idly, apparently unaware of the perfection of his jawline, the exquisite silhouette of his profile.

He turns, and the corners of his lips turn up as he politely thanks the waiter for his coffee. Sehun’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches, memories of other smiles, for other reasons, and the echo of a laugh teasing at his mind.

“Are you alright?” a young woman asks with a light touch to his arm, and Sehun jumps out of his shock to stare down into her large, bemused green eyes. He’s yanked back into the real world, realizing just how strange he must look, hovering halfway into the road, gaze frozen on an innocent coffeehouse.

“Yes,” he says hesitantly, stepping back onto the footpath. “Thank you. Sorry.” His accent is thick on his tongue for the first time in a long time as he momentarily forgets how to pronounce the English words. The woman smiles at him, pats his shoulder.

“Be careful,” she warns, not unkindly, and disappears into the mess of pedestrians.

“Thank you,” Sehun says again, and this time his tongue slides properly through the ‘th’. “Sorry.”

And then, closing off the memories that have no place coming to his mind in any case, he returns to checking for an opening in the traffic so that he may cross safely to the other side of the road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll take a pot of tea, please,” Sehun orders softly, digging for his wallet in the depths of his jacket pocket. “And two almond croissants, for that table over by the window.”

“Twelve fifty, thanks.”

Sehun hands the cashier a note and thumbs at his knuckles by his side as he waits for his change. The air in the café is warm and he loosens his scarf, admiring the steadiness of his own hands as he hangs it over his arm.

“We’ll bring it out to you soon,” the cashier chirps as she hands him back a palmful of coins, and Sehun smiles at her, turning out of the line. He pauses for a moment, willing his heart to calm down, willing the rushing in his ears to stop, willing the slight tremor in his ankles to fade. He takes one step, then another, before he is finally able to walk properly like a functional adult, over to the table by the window.

He allows himself one last gulp of terror before he pulls the empty chair out with one swift, calm motion and sits down without a word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A swell of affection bubbles in Sehun’s chest at the crease between the other man’s brows.

Tao’s mouth falls open.

Sehun can’t stop the twitch of a smile that pulls at his lips and he grins like a smug child, crossing his ankles and resting his hands in his lap.

“S-Sehun?”

“Tao.”

“Oh,” Tao breathes. Tears prick at the corners of Sehun’s eyes.

“You look good,” he notes, and it’s true. Tao has grown up, broadened out; he radiates confidence and elegance, the symmetry of his face breathtaking. A strange sense of pride settles in Sehun’s heart.

Tao’s chair scrapes across the tiles as he pushes it back and gets to his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The grin slips immediately off Sehun’s face, his giddiness suddenly overcome by devastation. Tao is going to leave. Tao doesn’t want to see him. It was childish and rude to just barge back into his life without so much as a hello. This was a terrible idea. He should have just tapped on his shoulder and greeted him politely, like a normal person. What was he thinking?

But Tao doesn’t reach for his coat — he reaches for Sehun’s, fingers grasping firmly at the lapel as he hauls the younger man out of his seat and lets out a small sob before flinging his arms around his neck.

 

 

Sehun freezes for a long second before he can bring his own hands up to return the hug, his fingers curling into the knit of Tao’s sweater as he buries his face in his shoulder. He registers how soft the fabric is, how warm Tao’s neck feels against his cheek. His cologne has no place in his memories, but suits him so much better than the scent he does remember, of adolescence and aerosol deodorants and bad decisions. The new smell is crisp and expensive, just like the man Tao has become.

But it’s the same old Tao Sehun remembers who clings to him like a koala and sniffles a defiant “I always look good.”

Sehun melts into the embrace and wonders if he’ll ever be able to let go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Tao sighs when they have returned to their seats, dabbing at his moist eyes with the serviette. His English is perfect, though tinted American, and Sehun’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “I can’t believe you’re _here_.”

Sehun scoffs slightly. “I live here.”

“What?”

“I live here. In London. I work at the embassy.”

Tao’s hands come up to his temples. “Since when?”

Sehun pauses to count the seasons. “Since four years ago.”

Tao stares at him.

Sehun fiddles with the pilling on his sleeve. “I ordered you a croissant.”

Tao drags his hand over his mouth. “You ordered me a croissant.”

“Um… yeah.”

“Amazing.”

Sehun stifles an inelegant snort. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for a show.”

Sehun sits up straight, eyes widening. “A show? You made it?”

Tao beams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tao smirks handsomely, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders. Sehun stands as well, tucking his seat back under the edge of the table. He follows Tao out the door, the bell jingling above their heads as he chases away any last remnants of icing sugar with a finger.

He’s not quite sure if he deserves to feel the pride he does for Tao, for what he’s achieved, for how far he’s come. He swallows the admiration swelling in his chest for how his stubborn, emotional, loving-to-a-fault friend, talented and hardworking beyond compare, managed to keep his determination all these years to chase his dream in an industry that was anything but forgiving.

“Will I get to see your designs one day? I’m not sure if I could afford to wear them.”

Tao laughs. “Maybe I’ll do a piece just for you.”

It sits strangely for Sehun that he would offer, even as a joke; how easily they could just slip back into banter, how easily they could go back to—

 

 

 

 

He stops the thought in its tracks.

Tao probably has a plane ticket booked for the day after, to Paris, or Milan, or Tokyo. He’ll probably be going to parties and sipping $3000 champagne out of $12,000 crystal flutes and there is no future for the two of them, the designer and the diplomat.

There wasn’t even a future for two nineteen-year-old boys, spreading into distant indifference.

He is a grown man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tao’s elbow nudges his sleeve as he turns into Hyde Park and brings his arms up to light a cigarette. Sehun smiles a little sadly at the realization Martial Arts Enthusiast High School Tao would never, and draws his own pack.

“I’d never have thought.”

“Likewise.”

A pause.

“Do you come here often?”

“Yeah. The embassy is just on the other side of the palace.”

“I’ve never been. Take a photo for my instagram.”

Sehun stares at the phone shoved into his hands. “How old are you?”

“I’m an artist. We’re all brats.”

Sehun raises the lens, aiming it at the man who is not as much of a stranger as he should be. “Stand over there.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I came out so pretty.” Tao admires the photos, swiping right. “Thanks. Would you like to see a picture of my dog?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Tao.”

He longs to touch. He longs to return and advance all at once. He _craves_ it.

And it’s Tao who makes the move, raising a hand to his shoulder and thumbing at his collarbone. “It’s been a long time, Sehun.”

“Too long.”

They’ve grown up. But the touch sends shivers through Sehun’s body that he should not be feeling, and it’s not enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Have dinner with me, this week. If you have the time.”

A ghost of a kiss hovers on his cheekbone.

“Okay.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A/N: -Halfway through I realized it's been almost five years since I've been in London and I have no idea what I'm talking about  
-This is what I do on my self-awarded one day off studying  
-I missed the fic community so much  
-Bye now 

 


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